Time best spent with you
by ForeverAPirate
Summary: After being happily married for 2 years, Arthur and Francis' world comes crashing down when it is discovered Arthur has a terminal illness. Dying after being in a car crash therefore, is the last thing Francis plans on doing. Human AU, character death.
1. Time best spent with you

**Warnings: References to terminal illness**.

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><p><strong>Time best spent with you<strong>

Francis comes home from work to find Arthur curled up on the sofa in the living room, a mug of tea in his hands and the telly on.

"You're late." He announces this casually, pointedly, but there is a question in there waiting to be answered.

"I am. Je suis desole, mon petit. There was some traffic." Traffic, Francis laughs inwardly. There was some indeed.

Arthur looks up at him, giving him a look over. "How was work?"

Francis shrugs off his coat onto the coat hanger by the door and sighs. "Stressful as ever, mon lapin. But it is to be expected with work, non?"

Arthur looks away, huffing a small, 'don't call me that arsehole,' under his breath. Francis comes over to him behind the sofa and slides his arms around his lover's shoulders, nuzzling his face into the fold of his neck. Arthur makes a small noise at the feeling of cold skin appearing suddenly on his throat but does not pull away, instead turns his head around to peck the Frenchman swiftly on the cheek.

"How was your day?" The question to the Englishman is sweet and innocent, yet it's not.

Arthur replies by tugging the material on the arm of Francis' jacket to get him to join him on the furniture, which Francis happily complies to.

"Boring, I guess. I managed to get some more of the book done though. About a few more chapters and it'll be finished."

Francis nods. "That's great. Anything else?"

"No."

There is a small pause.

"Any more headaches?"

"None."

Francis smiles, but it looks half strained and half sad. He ruffles Arthur's hair and detaches himself from the comfortable family setting he and Arthur have built cuddled up together on the sofa. Getting this comfortable and happy around the other has taken awhile, nearly five or six years, but to them it was worth it completely. Why can't they have longer?

"I shall make dinner then~" As Francis flounces to the kitchen, he notices Arthur get up and follow him.

"I could have made something, you know, I'm not incapable of cooking."

Francis laughed and waved a fork at his husband. _Husband. _How nice to use such a word_._

"On that matter, Arthur, I will have to completely disagree with you."

The other scowls and flicked the offending fork away from his face, leaning against the counter and watching as Francis rummaged around for ingredients and utensils

They talk as Francis cooks, about nothing important or serious, in which they tease and joke just as they always have. They eat with conversation too, never in silence as that is not like them. Francis flicked a sauce-covered pea at Arthur which then unfortunately landed on one of this eyebrows and was the cause of a certain Frenchman being subjected to strangulation after laughing till he cried. They washed up with the Englishman in a stony silence until he dumped a handful of suds on a certain someone's nice shiny blond hair, after another passing remark about bushy eyebrows. The rest of their evening went the same way as it normally did too; they watched T.V curled up together on the sofa covered in a quilt which Arthur stitched one year and watching anything that was interesting.

When they went to bed however, a new type of normal took hold as Arthur got up in the middle of the night to be sick. As Francis swan into consciousness, he sighed. He tried to get Arthur to go to bed earlier because of this but he always refused, wanting to carry on as normal. He got up and stifled a yawn as he plodded into the bathroom to sit with his partner, husband of three years now. Where did that time go? He sat with him through it all, rubbing his back soothingly and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

What scared Francis most though, was how 'normal' this felt, being awoken to the sound of retching nearly every night. It was something he thought he'd never get used to. He sat there with Arthur until he felt better, which was just about the time when he started grumbling at Francis for getting up when he didn't have to, you stupid frog, he didn't need him there. They both knew he was lying.

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><p>Arthur slept in the next morning, and was drowsy and slightly confused when Francis called work to let them know that he couldn't make it. They understood.<p>

Arthur moaned at him then when he found out what he'd done, telling him to leave him to it, he'd be fine, but they both knew Francis worried. And for good reason, though Arthur refused to agree, though he knew it was serious.

Arthur had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour about five months ago. It wasn't cancerous, just a large growth in the depths of his brain which was slowly growing and killing him but that couldn't be reached by any surgeon in the world, though Francis had tried all he could to find one. He still remembered coming home to Arthur having a seizure on the living room floor, laying there still and unresponsive afterwards as the Frenchman frantically phoned for an ambulance. Francis thinks that his world stopped that day.

Arthur had always had headaches, for as long as Francis had known him which was a very long time indeed. About two years into their marriage however, they had started to get worse, some days they would leave Arthur clutching his head in agony and Francis worriedly massaged his forehead to try anything to relieve his pain. Their doctor had prescribed migraine medicine but Francis had a feeling something was more seriously wrong and urged Arthur to have some more tests done, just in case. He had refused, he didn't like doctors or hospitals and getting him to go to their GP was bad enough. After his first seizure though, the hospital had told Francis there was little that could have been changed even if they had come in sooner, there was nothing they could do for him then or now. They were truly sorry.

They both hated that word.

Francis remembers driving home in a terse silence that night. Arthur was discharged, they had given them both some leaflets and numbers, some pain relief, a sorry look, and an expiry date, but they couldn't do anything more so they let him go. Keep him rested, keep him healthy. He's had many more seizures since then, but none as scary or as earth shattering.

They went to bed early that night, clutching each other tight under the sheets and crying until they couldn't anymore before just laying there, staring at each other and talking of everything and anything they could. Just to stay awake longer, to have more time with each other. Why hadn't they taken that holiday when they had that money saved? Why did they spend so much time dancing around each other before getting together, why didn't they have the balls to just ask the other out? Francis hated these questions; Arthur preferred not to talk about them. Both however felt cheated; of a life they could have had together but now had a definite ending to.

Sometime soon.

They were supposed to grow old together.

After more tests, it was determined that at the tumour's current stage he had about seven months, they said, give or take because everyone is different. It could be years yet; they should make the most of each other and enjoy the time they had. And they did, Arthur resigned from work and started to peruse writing a novel of his own, trying to fulfil a long put off childhood dream. They were lucky too that Francis' work was very accommodating; they understood their situation and gave him time off and distance when needed. They had so little time, yet so much of it. It wasn't fair. Arthur looked so healthy, apart from the odd drowsy spell, the ever painful headaches and the nausea he was just as he always had been. But now they _knew_, they knew how little they could have left, how much they may have.

So when Francis was on his way home from work that night, he was on the way home to Arthur, to see him and to love him as he did every day. The oncoming vehicle which swerved onto his side of the road put a sudden and unexpected stop to that. Lights suddenly blinded him, his vision turned white then black and his body felt weightless.

He wasn't ready to die.

He couldn't die.

He had things to do, he had places to go and things to take care of, Arthur to take care of, Arthur to love. Oh god, Arthur. He didn't need his death; he didn't need to be alone now, not with that _thing_ in his head crushing his life. Francis couldn't die, he wouldn't die. No matter what.

He was too needed.

So he fought against the strange tug that pulled at his very soul, pulled himself back into the realm of the living, to his life, to Arthur and thought of nothing else. Voices in his head, resounding all around told him he needed to go, it was his time, you see. You couldn't fight against your time.

He begged with them. Pleaded with the nothingness that was around him, where ever he was and told them he couldn't go, no matter what they said, there had to be some way. They struck a deal then, just for him, just because he was so needed by another and he made an offer so selfless. He would do _anything_ to stay.

But something cannot be given for nothing.

Not for things like this.

When Francis returned to Arthur that night, there had been traffic on the roads caused by a violent collision. News stations had started reporting that a lorry had hit a tree after swerving out of its lane and into another. No one knew the cause of the accident; there were so many factors that could have been its cause, drink, that large patch of ice, the strong winds, or tiredness from the driver. The driver was killed instantly, though it's very lucky that no one else was hurt in something like that. It was causing a lot of traffic and Arthur was worried as the road was one which his partner usually frequented on his drive home from work. He was so relieved when Francis walked through the door, safe and healthy.

Though he wasn't.

Francis bargained himself that night, his soul to stay with Arthur until he was no longer needed. He no longer needed to breathe, though he could, and his hair would never grow. A small part of him was glad that he hadn't shaved in a few days; he now at least had his beard to keep. He could walk and talk, his heart pumped blood through his veins but he didn't get hungry, his heart rate wouldn't quicken for anyone or anything other than Arthur for it was only he that was keeping Francis alive. His heart now beat for no other.

Without Arthur, Francis was nothing. When Arthur died, Francis would die, before it was metaphorical but now it was literal. Personally, Francis would have it no other way but he knew Arthur would be furious with him if he knew. He didn't care.

He didn't know what would happen to him when Arthur finally went, where would his soul go? What would happen to his body, it was already dead after all. He was scared of these questions and the answers they may bring, but he could see no other possibility, he could not, _would not_ leave Arthur, and could not live without him. This sacrifice, this insignificant little sacrifice, was the least he could do.

They went out for a romantic dinner the next evening.

He regretted nothing.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**I don't know, I'm sorry. D: I just had a flash of an idea that had to be written down before it was forgotten and I really needed a distraction from my writer's block which is stalling my other fic. I'm sorry if this causes offense or anything to anyone, I really don't mean anything by this. If there's anything that you feel is wrong with this, anything that I could improve on please leave a review to let me know or leave me a review to just let me know what you thought, I'd love to hear from you all. ^-^ **

**This is my first actually depressing thing that I've written here, and I honestly don't know how I feel about it. :/ I'll probably go back some other time and improve on the length or even make it a 2 shot but I really don't know. xD**

**I hope at least that it made for good reading, so thanks for taking a look. :) **

**~Heroes~**


	2. Times not long gone

**Times not long gone**

Francis and Arthur met each other at a university they both attended around 8 years ago. They were both in the same year as each other but in different parts of the campus with different social groups and different jobs at each end of the city. Meeting each other, therefore, seemed almost impossible and Francis likes to think of their meeting as one of chance or fate, while Arthur calls it his unlucky horoscope prediction. Arthur was 19 when he set off to gain a higher education and try to remove himself from the pit of low end jobs that his family had a habit of falling into, whilst Francis was 22 and bored with nothing better to do that to gain a degree and have some fun while he was at it. Both however, were very headstrong, very independent and both utterly stupid when it came to not doing what was best for them even if they didn't realise it, which was most of the time.

Arthur was, even then, a very hard worker who was prone to enclosing himself fully into what he was doing and was not unfamiliar to spending many a sleepless night getting things done to perfection at the last minute, each 'I' dotted and each 'T' crossed. He liked himself well organised and his life should follow suit, this alignment and perfection was his happiness, his constant that he knew he could control as he wished for as long as he wished. His wall that he built around himself was made from books, a camera, and memories, both good and bad that reminded him where he was going and advised him what to do next. It kept him safe. Control was safe.

Francis was not safe. He had no wall, no organisation, and no plan. He didn't need one. What Francis had was the here and the now, not the tomorrow or the yesterday as those things didn't matter. They were over and done with or had not yet begun so why worry about them or try to fix them? He didn't like solid structure; it scared him and made him feel trapped and enclosed, unable to break free and express or do what he wished when he wished. Life should have no plan, no one knew what was going to happen the next day after all, why plan out a journey to follow when something else could cross you path to distract or divert you from your goal? If you had no line to follow, you could never be cut off from what you wanted, you could simply go around it or find something else to aim for. You could never be disappointed. Maybe that's why he chose art; there was no real pressure of multiple essays, no real rush. Francis could _express_.

Arthur didn't like to express. His wall was sometimes too high, he would never tell anyone if he was ill, if he was sad or angry, if he was stressed or if he needed help. It was just something he didn't do and he couldn't bring himself to do, he couldn't expose who he was to others like that as it just _wasn't done_. It wasn't proper.

Francis also liked to experiment and had string of relationships that often criss-crossed into each other by accident causing their string to break and leaving Francis to pick up new threads before starting again.

_Arthur's string was unlike the others, a bright, vibrant red._

He never really had someone, man or woman, for more than three months at the most and that first year at university was his worst record yet. Where everyone was new and eager for a taste of life no one had many qualms about these things, experimentation was never meant to be serious and his partners were sometimes warned of this when he met them. Others knew beforehand. Others had no clue, but these people Francis had little feelings for; it was their problem what they walked into, not his.

Arthur had constants, his relationships were more like thick ship's rope than string, they anchored him to a certain point in his life and if he wished he could backtrack through his memories, pick up an end of a rope and tug himself back to the beginning to relive it all again. Every thought, every emotion, every memory was stored within these thick, important pieces of rope. There were not that many of them though and some were small with a quick ending. However all were equally important.

Francis had too many strings to remember them all.

Arthur was not one to quit, if a relationship failed he wouldn't let go easily but instead he preferred to try every option available to keep it with him until he bordered close to desperation. Friends told him he cared too much. Arthur personally agreed but could never bring himself to fully let someone go if there was a chance, even a slim chance of reconciliation between them. His ropes became frayed sometimes before they got cut off. Some frayed but endured the strain and maybe sometimes turned into something else, a close friendship or a gradual dissolution of a good thing with each parting on good terms. His friendships always endured though, there was not that many to damage after all.

Sometimes Francis' strings became entangled with friends and family, making it impossible to fix, but no matter.

He could always pick up more.

Arthur originally started off as a very pretty looking string, one Francis was determined to take home to bed and ravish. Arthur was a waiter in a café Francis had ducked into when it had started to rain one day nearing the end of their first year. Hair as good as his required protection from sudden downpours and a little coffee wouldn't hurt him or his pocket so he made his way to a chair by the window and dropped into it gracefully, making sure to wink at the young waiter on his way. The response to his attention was a glare, and a giant eyebrow twitch, certainly nothing Francis was expecting. The brows were a dent in his attractiveness on first glance, but Francis decided they actually rather suited him as they made him look dignified and more handsome than just attractive. His eyes though were what captivated him the most, a bright, emerald green that reminded him of the rolling hills that England possessed and the precious gems men fought to the death over. Caught in a glare like Arthur's though, they were dangerous and angry with what seemed like the ability to spit green fire at their target. Francis, in this case. Upon asking for his name or mobile number Francis was rather loudly and bluntly snubbed.

"My number is not something for me to give out freely to any old nancy boy that flounces in here. Now, can I take your order or shall I be allowed the pleasure of asking you to leave?"

Francis remembered fuming then as he stood and stormed out of the café. He was never snubbed, anyone he asked out was never stupid enough to decline as they recognised the honour they were being handed, normally it was he who was being chased after. This man with the giant brows had no _right _to refuse him, no right at all without knowing him. He hated him right at that moment, that posh little prick with the stupid looking eyebrows who wouldn't even give him the time of day but would rather embarrass him. No matter though, it was his loss. Anyone who rejected him wasn't worth it anyway.

Unfortunately for them both they had a habit of bumping into each other after that. A whole year had gone by without them meeting, yet now they saw the other almost everywhere they went and it was a guaranteed way to ruin their day. Francis bumped into Arthur after the café incident in a corridor at school and did it so as to knock his large pile of books out of his hands and to the floor. Arthur was left scrambling around after his papers and books trying to save them before they were trodden on. Francis then found himself with no clothes after they mysteriously vanished after meeting Arthur at a swimming pool. One time Francis had met Arthur on a night out with some friends and had managed to get him totally gazeboed as well as filming him strut about the place, slurring his words and hanging onto random women. He then sent the video to all of his contacts, urging them to pass it on as many times as they wanted. Arthur was humiliated, to say the least, and so when he met Francis dozing on a bench outside he accidentally with a slight slip on the hand shaved off all his hair whilst he slept with headphones in, leaving only a small tuft at the front and the side which he was sleeping on and shortening the rest to a shaggy mass. Francis didn't leave his house without a hat for months afterwards and became wary of innocent looking park benches.

This became an endless cycle of torture with silence between the two, neither said anything to the other, didn't try to reconcile their differences but they just hated without knowing the actual reason why. They had forgotten how it had started after a while. Encounters with the other sometimes led to physical bust ups with an aftermath of bruises, black eyes and once a bloody nose, yet they never meant anything more than beating the shit out of someone then walking away without any guilt, regret or hate. No strings or ropes attached.

It was becoming a routine in which they unwillingly and unknowingly got to know each other.

Arthur's address was one day suddenly bombarded with pictures of Francis leaving Arthur clueless as to how the Frog Bastard had managed to get a hold of where he lived. Francis found that the fridge he owned in his dorm had suddenly become full of crumpets and teabags with all of his delicious food gone.

It didn't changes for ages afterwards, a year and a bit of casual hating and torturing the other mercilessly because it was fun and because they meant nothing. Francis didn't realise Arthur mattered to him at all until he met him at the cinema whilst Arthur was on a date. She was a pretty girl, Francis could appreciate that without a doubt, and she looked intelligent and kind and everything that could possible fit Arthur perfectly. Her small, slim hand was clasped in his casually, not too tight to suggest clingy and not too loose to suggest a passing fancy, but it just fit there all clasped and comfortable and Francis hated it. He wanted to tug it out and rip Arthur away to beat the shit out of him, just to get rid of this weird feeling he now had looking at him. Arthur glared at him and moved protectively closer to the little whore attached to his arm. (Well, she really wasn't a whore at all. Personally Francis would have found her a bit too boring for his tastes but he felt anger directed to her for some reason.)

"Stop staring at Gwen, arsehole and go fuck off somewhere else."

Francis yelled some shit back at him that made Gwen wrinkle her brow in shock and a passerby whistle. Before he knew it, he and Arthur were fighting again and he could feel the arms of his friend Gilbert trying to pry him off the floor and failing quite miserably. They managed to break it up before any policemen or authority figure could arrive to sort them out and then a friend dragged Francis out into the nearby park and away from the cinema. He could see Arthur wince as he rolled his shoulder and Gwen give him a small peck on the lips in sympathy before wiping some blood from his cheek. Francis told himself he didn't care.

Arthur didn't realise his feelings towards Francis had changed at all, as far as he was concerned he loathed him and always would, hate was too weak a word for the feelings he harboured towards the Frenchman. After one month of not seeing him for about two weeks though, Arthur was starting to grow slightly worried about where he'd vanished to. He was shocked to realise that he saw Francis at least twice a week with either a passing glance or a full out confrontation so it felt so strange not to see him at all. It was like there was something missing in his life that only someone with a shitty beard and girly hair could fill. Francis had become something normal just like walking to school every morning; something so normal that you don't even notice it's there until it's gone. It turned out that Francis had only had a bad case of the flu and was in bed most of the time, yet Arthur made sure that when he beat him up next (and obviously he would win) that he would steal Francis' phone and add in his number, only to harass him when he next went away of course. Francis found himself texting Arthur just for the fun of it and was actually surprised and slightly happy when Arthur answered, even if most of the time they were insults directed at him.

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><p>One day in the beginnings of summer Arthur went for a walk at 2am and found Francis hunched over a bench in the park in the centre of town, head resting in his hands with his hair sweeping forward so that it covered his face.<p>

"What's wrong with you?"

"Piss of, rosbif, I'm not in the mood right now."

"Geez, someone's pissy and I thought- good Lord, are you actually crying?"

There was a small sniffle from someone who was defiantly not Arthur. Now he felt awkward.

"Erh, look Francis...um what's... are you?"

Francis gave a weak chuckle and looked up at him. His eyes were slightly watery but not yet red, he hadn't been crying for long.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're shit at being a decent human being?"

"Well fuck you then!"

Arthur turned on his heel to walk away, the bastard was obviously feeling better and he was no longer needed now so he might as well-

"But thank you."

Arthur turned his eyes back to Francis and raised an eyebrow in surprise. Francis waved his hand to dismiss what he said next. "Just relationship problems, nothing I've not had before."

"I understand."

"You don't! " He retorted angrily, hurt that Arthur could just jump to conclusions and make assumptions on how he felt. "You've got that girl of yours haven't you? Then no, you don't understand!"

Arthur looked downcast and drooped slightly before heaving a big sigh. "We split last week."

"I...I'm sorry."

There was an awkward silence that seemed to smother them like a blanket.

"It's okay." Arthur came back to sit next to Francis on the bench, who moved up to make room.

"How long were you...?" He let the question hang in the air.

"A year."

"Why?"

"She left. Didn't say why but I suspect she was cheating."

There were never any boundaries of what couldn't be asked and what could between them, there never had been. They'd offended each other much worse with insults and tricks so any questions at all were harmless in comparison. They'd never spoken properly, yet there were no lines that could be crossed by either of them.

They sat in silence after that. There was nothing more to say that would have meant anything important so they sat without saying anything for ten minutes until Arthur stood. "Why're you here?"

Francis sighed and stared at the ground. "It is unimportant." He'd cheated and had got caught by the other woman, but it was probably not the best time to tell Arthur that.

Arthur nodded. "Right then. Night, frog." With that he turned and walked away leaving Francis to stare after him into the dark. Arthur had never said why he was out that late, but it didn't matter. It was from that point on that their relation changed took a less violent turn. It took a long time and was slow in moving anywhere at all but change it did.

It went from random brawls in the street, to a nodded greeting or only a curse as they passed each other.

From insult filled texts to random ramblings about how horrible a professor was to a snoring roommate was keeping them up.

Their random pranks were still there though, just less severe and were jokier rather than hate filled or resentful. They couldn't bring themselves to stop those.

Soon even their verbal arguments when they met in the street lost their bite, Francis becoming used to Arthur's sharp tongue and Arthur becoming used to the fact that the Frenchman became increasingly friendly with his hands when he got to know you. Before too long they had lunch together in the café where they'd first met when Francis had come to visit Arthur during a shift. He had hung around until Arthur had signed off and had persuaded him to have coffee with him (Arthur agreed only on the promise of tea) and then go somewhere afterwards. Francis soon became a regular there.

Francis claims that was their first date, though to this day Arthur still maintains that he only agreed as he had nothing better to do.

One day at the end of February in the middle of their third and final year at university they kissed for the first time on the bench which Arthur had christened with Francis' shaved off hair over a year and a half ago. It was late at night with the stars out shining and it was the best kiss either of them had ever had. Afterwards, Arthur had punched him in the face and stormed off back to his shared flat yelling for all to hear that Francis was a persuading, evil, and perverted French bastard. He still agreed to go to dinner with him the next day though.

Their way of dating was different from other peoples, or even other times they themselves had dated. They didn't have to get to know each other personally first and they never had the nasty surprises of finding out the worst side to their partners' personality as they had met with the worst sides. It was the worst in them that got them together in the first place. They were dating almost completely backwards, they had seen each other at their worst before their very best and secretly both agreed that it may be better that way.

Francis was fast becoming the most important rope Arthur had ever collected and Francis could pick out Arthur's string from all the others. It was longer and far more red, so very hard to forget as it was different from all other relationships he had had and was one he was starting to become very unwilling to let go of. When they got to their three month mark Francis insisted that they go out for a meal together or go and do something new, though he would never tell Arthur why it was such a special occasion.

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><p>Francis found out about Arthur's headaches purely by accident. They had be supposed to have gone out for dinner and then to the cinema afterwards to watch a mystery series Arthur was completely enthralled with but he never showed up. Francis was left sitting at their table getting more and more humiliated as time went on, turning red as people started staring and giving him pitying looks. Eventually he left the restaurant and its gossip ridden whispers and tried calling and texting Arthur to ask where he was, but was got no answer. Now more than slightly worried, he hurried over to Arthur's flat to make sure that he was okay and found the door unlocked and the place eerily silent. He knocked but upon receiving no answer he pushed open the door gently to slip inside before stopping at the sight of Arthur lounging on the sofa, eyes shut and an arm over his forehead. At the noise of his name being called, Arthur sat up groggily and with shocked, wide eyes rose hastily to greet Francis and explain. He tried to apologise but his words came out slightly slurred and he stumbled slightly as he walked , his feet not following what he told them and his world swimming slightly.<p>

Francis saw red, he knew Arthur had gone out drinking with friends last night and assumed he had over done it and had forgotten about their date. He yelled at him for not answering his phone, for not being able to control himself, for not remembering him or their date, for being an arsehole boyfriend in general, and pushed Arthur away from him when the other tried to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He was all ready to turn on his heel and walk out, but then Arthur fell back from the force of his shove and crumpled to the floor as his legs could not cope with the momentum. He expected Arthur to say something to make him stay, to yell at him for pushing him, to apologise, to get up, or to do anything at all. What he did not want or expect was for Arthur to grip his head, scrunch his eyes up and give a small strangled cry of pain as tears sprung to his eyes. His nails were griping the side of his head so hard they were starting to dig in and leave marks which dismissed Francis' thought that it was a bad hangover, he had never seen a hangover make someone become so deathly pale and still.

He had dropped down beside him and tried to pry his hands away and to get him to look up, but Arthur held them there fast and mumbled something about migraines that Francis had to strain his ears to hear. He then gently picked Arthur up and carried him to bed, telling him how sorry he was the entire walk to his room for accusing him of something when he was ill and lay him down as gently as possible. Once Francis had shut the door as well as all of the curtains he got some pain killers and a glass of water from the kitchen and crept back to Arthur's bed to lie down beside him.

They lay there together until Arthur felt better enough to tell Francis that he'd been getting bad headaches all of this life that developed into migraines when he hit university. A doctor had told him that they were caused by stress but were harmless, though incurable.

"Why didn't you tell me you were stressed? I wouldn't have pushed to meet up with you so often."

Arthur said nothing for a while but just lay there staring at Francis for a bit before answering. "It's not something I really wanted to burden you with."

Even if Francis had known that was a sign of things to come, he wouldn't have ever done anything differently at all. He held Arthur in his arms that night as he slept over, watching Arthur breathe slowly and deeply. He realised just how much he loved this one person, something so scary and so wonderful there wasn't a word he had in either language to describe how he felt about him. He just knew that he actually loved Arthur more than he had ever loved anyone else and meeting him there in that café was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>

**This was originally supposed to be a one shot but with the feedback I got from it I decided to expand it into a small multi fic. ^u^ I hope it fits in with the first chapter and that they're not out of character that much.**

**Please review to let me know what you thought or how I could improve this at all, there's no point me writing if there's no one reading after all. xD Any criticism is good criticism. :P**

**I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!**

**~Heroes~**


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